


the world at your fingertips

by troiing



Series: our mistakes they were bound to be made (but i promise you i'll keep you safe) [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, F/F, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: It’s been a week, and the unchanneled magic in the cottage tingles like static at Tissaia’s fingertips.Rubbing her itching palms against her thighs, she thinks she might be going a bit mad.Takes place several months after the Thanedd Coup.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: our mistakes they were bound to be made (but i promise you i'll keep you safe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774828
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	the world at your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirl20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl20/gifts).



> thegirl20 asked for: Yennaia, and cabin fever for Bad Things Happen BINGO
> 
> I imagine Salka as a sloughi! Or, you know, whatever the Continental equivalent is...
> 
> **warning** for mention of and reference to attempted suicide.

It's been a week since Yennefer left, and the unchanneled magic in the cottage tingles like static at Tissaia’s fingertips.

Rubbing her itching palms against her thighs, she thinks she might be going a bit mad.

Despite the months since the Coup, since her life and the Continent came tumbling down around her with the rubble on Thanedd, she is still not accustomed to being without a task: most of her life has been consumed by Aretuza: its day-to-day functions, the Trials of the newest students, classes taught here and there throughout the week. On Thanedd, even if her hands were not busy her mind was occupied—by a coming lesson, or world politics, or some other scheme grander than herself. She has had little time to be truly alone with her own thoughts over the years, but a great deal of it over the past several months, first recovering in the Temple of Melitele, and now here, settled on a small parcel of land granted to Yennefer as a favour from Crach an Craite.

She feels she owes the man something, and it’s not a feeling she likes, though time and again Yennefer has made assurances that Crach is an old friend and Tissaia owes nothing to either of them.

She does owe Yennefer a good cuff on the ear for insisting that the lean hound—named Salka by Ciri—be allowed into the house. She’s tired of sweeping up dirt tracked across the floor.

(Though she does not like to admit it, the dog has been a welcome companion during the longer spans spent alone in the cottage. She is well-mannered, seems to like her space as much as Tissaia does, but she is also sensitive—has an uncanny ability to recognise Tissaia’s moods before Tissaia wholly acknowledges them. In such times, she might be greeted by a narrow head upon her lap, or a lean body pressed against her thigh. By and large, however, she is quiet and stays out of the way; there is a spot near the hearth that she prefers to lie in, and from there she keeps a watchful eye on the proceedings—or, frequently, the lack thereof—in the house.)

The week has been a good one. Good in that Tissaia has felt largely herself. She has risen with the sun, taken meals at the small table, walked through the woods and along the craggy shore. She has read, and penned a few notes she has not sent, and ridden into the nearby town—once for supplies, once for a lack of anything better to do with her time. Two nights ago, she had lowered herself to the floor near the hearth, allowed Salka to come to her—to stretch her body alongside Tissaia’s legs as she grazed her fingertips against the rough scars upon her wrists. The examination had incited a sharp pang of guilt; Salka had lowered her head to the crook of her arm with a quiet whine in response. But the guilt was all she felt; no ideations of death, no considerations of punishments suited to the woman who single-handedly ended the Brotherhood had come to mind. No, no, she is moving past that, teaching herself slowly that the weight of the world is not upon her shoulders—remarkably, that it never really was; that many were at fault in the massacre at Thanedd, and that her convictions had been sound, whatever had come of them.

Some days, it is easier to believe than others.

Although the week has been a good one, she is boring of it quickly; it seems she cannot win. There is only so much to do here, tucked away from the world at large, alone save for a dog and a horse and the sound of the ocean and a list of chores the likes of which she has not known since she was a girl. The mundane routine, the lack of stimulation, make her want to throw her arms into the air. She genuinely fears that she may backslide if she endures much more of it.

When the weather is right, she'll have to start a garden. Something. _Anything_.

She sighs, and there is a rustle from near the fire, a shuffle of paws. A weight against her side. Tissaia glances down, finds melancholy brown eyes trained on her, and breathes a quiet note of reluctant laughter.

She is in the bedroom, stashing a few necessities into a satchel before she wholly realises that she has made a decision.

“Come,” she says, and Salka comes to heel as Tissaia moves through the cottage, leashing her and walking out to the pasture. Salka strains against her collar as Tissaia opens the gate; as soon as she’s free, the energy bursts out of her and she takes off at a full gallop, lithe body arcing through the air as she sprints past Tissaia’s gelding, who snorts his displeasure but watches calmly, a single ear flicking back as the hound races in a familiar path around the perimeter of the fence. Tissaia aches for a similar release.

She saddles the horse, leaves through the barn door, and rides off towards town again. A woman and her boy live on the outskirts, practically destitute by all accounts. They are good people, though; Tissaia employs the boy for odd tasks here and there, and Yennefer had long ago taken to leaving some coin in the woman’s care, under instruction that, if neither she nor Tissaia were seen for a span of days, the boy should deliver provisions from the market. A few times, it’s been necessary. On two occasions, his mother had made the journey herself, busying herself in the cottage’s kitchen while Tissaia had been incapable of doing so much as dragging herself out of bed.

Thinking on this causes Tissaia to frown deeply, reflexively tugging at gloves and sleeves to cover the scars upon her wrists.

The lad and his mother are outside when she arrives; a few chickens cluck as Vedis tosses grain out for them.

“Kollr,” Tissaia says as the boy drops the axe he has been using to chop wood with little enough skill. “Here, lad.” He lopes over as Tissaia dismounts, fishing some coin out to place in his palm. “I am traveling. I may be several days. You will take the horse back. Fetch some hay into the barn and meat for the dog each day. Keep the water fresh. Leave the hound in the pasture. I know the fence seems quite ordinary, but it keeps her in ever the same; see to it that you do not let her run free, do you understand?”

“Yes’m.”

“Good. Be sure you leave in time to get home before dark. Do not worry your mother on my account.”

“Yes’m.”

Tissaia walks the horse to a post, hitches him, and loosens the girth as Kollr sets to gathering the wood he has chopped. “Vedis,” she greets.

“Hedydd,” the woman returns with a weary, but warm smile.

It is not a name Tissaia is accustomed to, but she smiles back slightly nevertheless. “He's a good lad,” she observes, nodding her head in the boy’s direction.

“Aye, he is. Where do you go?”

“To see a friend.”

“Your Jenny?”

Vedis asks with a quirk of her brow.

“Mm. Here.” Tissaia reaches out, a coinpurse in hand. Vedis frowns, making no move to accept the coin; she is proud and stubborn, and Tissaia respects her for it. “In the event that I am gone longer than expected, and an emergency arises with one of the animals. Or if you should find your table lacking at any point.” Tissaia knows the woman will not skim for her own uses, but she feels better for having granted permission, anyway.

Vedis takes the purse with some hesitation, then hefts it in something of a salute. “Lad’ll look after the place for you. Not to worry.”

“I won’t,” Tissaia promises, the smile lighting on her lips again. “Thank you.”

Once out of sight, Tissaia focuses her thoughts on Yennefer, breathes deeply; the Chaos rippling around her seems to crackle with relief as a portal opens before her.

She steps through it.


End file.
